


Wishful Sleeping

by daniko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, HP: EWE, M/M, Slash, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daniko/pseuds/daniko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy wears a golden Muggle watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishful Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t get it. I swear I only wanted to write three drabbles: the first well all right, the second likewise, but the third started to go crazy. After that, well, see for yourself. ;)
> 
> EDIT: There's a typo. I know there is. I just can't find it. *looks suspiciously at the fic*

It was sweet, and Harry didn’t expect it to be; to be held and touched this way. Harry hardly even resisted anymore, but the other’s grip remained strong, as if he was afraid Harry would run, and it felt so good to be so wanted. He always touched Harry like he couldn’t get enough; touching, tasting, inhaling, kissing Harry everywhere but on the mouth. Harry could, and wanted to, do little else other than to submit.

Harry was the only one who lost control; he screamed and came in an explosion of such pleasure that he was left feeling numb afterwards, dimly aware of gentle kisses on his shoulder. The other never undressed, his jewellery felt cold on Harry’s skin, but the familiar weight on top of Harry grounded him to reality, kept him warm with the knowledge that someone, somewhere, cared for him.

*** 

Harry woke up. It happened again, he noticed; these dreams. It was getting to the point where Harry couldn’t look at his dorm-mates in the morning, afraid that they would know. Harry was queer, lonely, scared. Harry dreamt of Draco Malfoy holding him down and ripping his dignity apart with his cock.

The dreams were so real, so intense. They were only dreams, Harry knew; he was afraid they weren’t for a while, but then he noticed something: the golden watch on Malfoy’s wrist. It was Muggle. Draco bloody Malfoy would never lower himself to wear such a thing, Harry thought with disgust.

The dreams left Harry so tired that he started taking naps throughout the day. He never dreamt like he did at night, but he remembered those dreams well enough to warranty pleasant ones regardless, of being cared for. He was not sure how happy he was that Voldemort’s reptilian face, and everything it entailed, was replaced with Malfoy’s smouldering eyes. And everything _it_ entailed.

*** 

One night, a week after it started, the dream was worse than usual. It left Harry feeling raw, exposed in more figurative ways that those that actually took place. Malfoy looked wild; he took Harry repeatedly, tore Harry apart and put him back together.

Hermione looked at Harry with a sympathetic enough stare that told him she knew something he didn’t. He finally asked her about it the following morning, during breakfast. He nibbled half-heartedly on his dry toast, while she said, “Well, you did die and killed just six months ago. That is bound to change a man.”

Harry looked at her like she was crazy. “You kidding me? I don’t feel _guilty_. _He_ ,” Harry spat, “killed my family and friends. Good riddance.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Hermione explained patiently. “And just because he was a monster doesn’t mean you are,” she added, “it would be perfectly okay to feel scared or guilty. What I mean is that, all of your life you had something important to do. Maybe dying changed your perspective on what’s important and what is not.” She looked so shrewd, so confident, that Harry was sure she did know something, even if she could not know the specifics.

“I think you should enjoy being a normal bloke, mate,” added Ron with a grin.

Hermione must have realised how useless their advice was, because she said, “ _Or_ , you know, go stalk Malfoy. You seemed to enjoy that, and he’s been looking your way often lately.

“Maybe he’s up to something,” Ron mock-whispered with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Harry scowled at them.

Then again, maybe Ron was right. Maybe Malfoy _was_ up to something. Maybe he was the one who gave Harry those dreams, for a laugh. The bastard.

*** 

Like with most tragedies in Harry’s life, the climax was set in the Potions lab.

Once Hermione pointed it out to him, Harry started noticing Malfoy’s eyes on him more and more often. He was not glaring, he was not scowling and he was not plotting. Harry had been around long enough to know Malfoy’s plotting look. Malfoy was just staring.

On that particular day, they were resolutely trying to stare each other down.

Hermione gave up on getting Harry’s attention back to class a few minutes before and Slughorn was too busy stuffing himself with chocolate – in the _lab_ ; Snape would have a fit – so Harry was free to stare at Malfoy while absently throwing chopped ingredients into his cauldron.

While it was not the smartest thing Harry had ever done, it was not him that bollixed up his potion. It was Malfoy. One minute, he had his eyes fixed on Harry; and, in the next, he ducked under his table, just as his cauldron hissed dangerously, then _exploded_.

Harry came up and helped Hermione to her feet, before he burst laughing at the sight of Malfoy frantically trying to put out the fire on his robes and, failing that, wrenching them away.

Harry stopped laughing when he noticed what was on Malfoy’s wrist: a golden Muggle watch.

*** 

Harry hadn’t noticed how often he bumped into Malfoy during the day until it stopped happening. He could only deduce that it was on purpose; that Malfoy was avoiding him.

The next two nights, Harry dreamt like he used to, only he was alone; there was no one to pin him down on the floor, or the wall. On the third night, Harry dreamt again: he got up from his bed, threw the Invisibility Cloak on and motioned to leave the dorm, when—

“Harry? ‘S that you?” Ron mumbled, still half-asleep. Harry abruptly awoke.

He found out that he needed to sit down. Then, because Ron still looked confused, he pulled the Cloak off his head. “Yeah,” he replied, although the answer was obvious by then, “I think I was sleep-walking. I never did before.”

“Nah, you weren’t. You were just Wishfully Sleeping, nothing to worry about. It happens to me all the time when I have to take a leak.”

“What?”

Ron’s expression was the one he got whenever Harry showed how little he knew about the Wizarding world: his lips twitched and his nose scrunched as he attempted not to snort. “You know, the Wishful stage of sleep; as in, when you’re sleeping and need something really bad, but you can only do it when you are deeply under. You can’t control yourself. Muggles usually pee their beds, but we don’t have to,” he added triumphantly.

“Oh,” said Harry. He decided to take a few moments before trying to figure out the implications of what Ron had just told him: that, apparently, Harry wanted Malfoy bad enough that his subconscious thought it had to get him for Harry. He didn’t even want to start thinking about what he had said and done in front Malfoy, all those times. “What time is it?” he asked instead.

Ron blinked at the non-sequitur, but replied, “A bit after midnight. Why?”

Harry knew where to go. Maybe he had known it all along. “I—I have something to do,” he blurted and went for the door.

Ron laughed. “Tell her ‘hello’ for me.”

*** 

The walk to the Astronomy Tower was not long, but Harry was breathing heavily by the time he got there. As it turned out, he didn’t have to worry. Malfoy was not there. It was a bit chilly, but Harry didn’t feel like going back to the dorm and _Ron_ , so he leant against the balustrade and looked towards the Forbidden Forest.

Did he even want Malfoy? Or just someone, _any_ one? Or, maybe, he just wanted someone who could give him exactly what only Malfoy had been able offer.

This last bit was enlightening, but, before Harry had time to think about it, the door behind him creaked open and Malfoy stepped onto the balcony. For a second, neither move, then Malfoy walked forward to lean against the stone next to Harry. “Potter,” he greeted casually.

The dismissal made Harry’s blood boil. “What did you do to me?” he demanded, whirling Malfoy around to face him, because it didn’t matter if Harry wanted it or not. Malfoy took advantage when Harry couldn’t say no. Harry might just hex him for it.

Malfoy’s eyes flashed and he shoved Harry away. “I did nothing you didn’t ask for! In fact, most of the things you did ask, I didn’t do. So, who do you think has been the bigger man here?”

“Oh, yes,” Harry drawled, “you’re so selfless that you couldn’t help but to _lend me a hand_.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “You know nothing about me.”

Harry had to laugh at that. “I know plenty.” Malfoy snorted, but Harry continued, “I know what you look like when you’re embarrassed, upset or scared,” Harry told him smugly, “how big your eyes get. Did you know that you clench your wand hand when you’re angry? That, when you blush, it goes all the way to your years? I’ve seen you cry, you prat. I even know you when you’re horny. So, don’t come here and tell me you did it just because I asked you to, because that’s a fucking _lie_!”

It was Malfoy that got into Harry’s personal space then. “You want the truth, _Potter_?” he spat. “You want to hear me say that I want you—that I have wanted you since I knew what my prick was for? You self-righteous bastard! You come up here when I’m minding my own business—,” Harry remembers taking the Marauder’s Map that first night, “—and you kiss me and beg me to do things you couldn’t even say out loud and I’m to blame? Fuck _you_!”

Malfoy turned to leave, and that was when Harry’s mind supplied him with a heartfelt _Fuck it!_ and he turned Malfoy around, threw his arms around Malfoy’s neck and pressed their lips together.

No one was pinned down, their clothes stayed on and both of them lost control. It was much better that way.

*** 

Harry realised that there was really nothing against dating Malfoy that he could think of: there were no secrets between them, no outside pressure or parents who would forbid them from seeing each other. They were just a normal couple, and, if anyone said otherwise, they could tell them where to stuff it.

Malfoy was ridiculously pleased when Harry did just that. He started to ostentatiously hold Harry’s hand between classes, strutting through the hallways with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

Ron kept sending him nasty glares, but seeing as he did the exact same thing with any of Ginny’s boyfriends, Harry let him be. Hermione, on another hand, seemed to think the situation was hilarious; Harry found that less amusing, but it was better than having her worry, so he didn’t mind. Everyone else seemed to let Ron and Hermione’s behaviour be their guide. Harry didn’t care.

After a while, Malfoy became brave enough to kiss Harry under Harry’s favourite tree.

In the spring, when Harry asked him if he wanted to have tea with Hagrid the following Saturday, he paled, grunted, but didn’t say no. 

Draco was the first one to hear about Harry’s acceptance in the Auror Programme, and he took Harry out to Hogsmeade to celebrate. The next day, he told Harry that he was accepted in St Mungo’s Medical School three days ago, but hadn’t known how to tell Harry.

They moved into a one-bedroom flat after Hogwarts, and had dinner with the Malfoys on Fridays and lunch with the Weasleys on Sundays. Narcissa spent her time sniffing haughtily, complaining about the lack of a woman’s touch in their apartment and reminded Draco constantly that she wanted grandchildren. Lucius sighed often, seemingly torn in immense despondency at his son’s choice in partners and annoyance over how Harry and Draco didn’t care about his opinion. Molly took to tell Draco he could call her mum, and Arthur got himself a spy in St Mungo’s Artefact Accidents Ward.

After they finished school, Narcissa’s pointed hints got worse and Molly joined the game.

Harry couldn’t care less, but Draco obviously did, so they got married in the grounds surrounding Shell Cottage, and got pamphlets from multiple orphanages. Draco didn’t want to adopt Muggles – they wouldn’t understand magic, anyway – but his eyes lit up years later when he met a Squib little girl and her Muggleborn cousin. That was how Nacissa got Lyra to dress up and Molly got Protheus to play Quidditch in her backyard.

Draco still wore his golden Muggle watch.


End file.
